


Escape

by dcisamtyler



Series: Simm!Master One-Shots [10]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Bakery and Coffee Shop, F/M, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:33:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25613638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dcisamtyler/pseuds/dcisamtyler
Summary: Written based on a request from Tumblr.Coffee Shop AU. As manager of a coffee shop in downtown London, Reader has a regular patron who comes back, just to see them.
Relationships: Harold Saxon/Reader, The Master (Doctor Who)/Reader, The Master (Simm)/Reader
Series: Simm!Master One-Shots [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1851601
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	Escape

**Author's Note:**

> Let’s pretend poor Lucy doesn’t exist (for this one). Please forgive me for the utter cheesiness. I know Harold Saxon fics are mostly him being a dick as a PM, but I wanted to do something different. And besides, if you've read my stuff before, you know I love a Soft!Master fic. Enjoy!

Waves lapped lightly onto the shore as the Florida sun sat on your shoulders like warm hands, its fingers stretching out on your bare skin. Stretching out your legs onto the sand, you leaned back on your elbows and watched the horizon. A grin crept onto your face. With its soft sand, this beach on the west coast of Florida had to be heaven. Or some kind of equivalent of it. You were certain.

After all, it wasn’t the hell you’d grown accustomed to over the years. Here, heaven smelled like sunscreen and sea salt wafting off the water. Your hell was anything but. Your hell smelled like stale coffee beans, sugary pastries, and the odd mix of odors from the people that huddled around tables with their noses in their laptops. Not that you wanted to think about that, of course. You wanted to think about summer – relaxing on the beach, toes digging into the white sand, sunglasses perched on your perfectly sun-kissed face. Heaven.

“Y/N!” your employee Alice hissed, her voice just above a whisper. She poked your side, causing you to nearly fall out of your chair. You squeaked as you glanced up at her in horror. You hadn’t sorted through any of the boxes at all. You had been slipping into one of your vivid daydreams again. It happened quite a lot, especially now as the stress built in your chest about the upcoming months. You needed the escape. As you studied her face, she frowned. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for a few minutes now. Where did you go?”

“Florida,” you quickly replied. Alice slowly nodded as if she understood, lazily crossing her arms over her chest. Of course, you would find yourself imagining a beach in Florida.

You were managing a coffee shop in downtown London in the middle of autumn. Who wouldn’t want that kind of escape, especially as you quickly neared the dreaded holiday season? The holiday season meant holiday-themed drinks, pastries, angry patrons, and those bloody holiday-themed cups. 

In fact, you sat in the back stockroom surrounded by boxes of them. The owner insisted you have all of them organized by color, size, and type. Of course, there were several of each – red, green, blue, and purple. One version even had a mix of all of them. Then, you were supposed to start on the pastry bags and the other paper items. That was how you were going to spend your day. Though, some part of you entertained the idea of walking out, taking a train to Heathrow, and hopping on the first plane to Sarasota.

You shook your head as if to clear it and glanced up at Alice, who was still standing there with her eyes wide. After clearing your throat, you asked, “Did – did you need something?”

Alice, only a teenager, awkwardly scratched her neck, glancing towards the counter. “He’s back.”

“Who?”

She tilted her head in slight amusement, towards the front of the coffee shop. A handsome brown-haired man with bright, whiskey-colored eyes stood with his hands shoved in his coat pockets. The man left a few buttons unbuttoned, revealing a crisp suit. You immediately recognized him from his last couple of visits.

After a bout of the flu went through your employees all at once, you were left to man the counter all by yourself one day. Not the easiest of feats, especially in a coffee shop in one of the most populated areas of the city. Most of the patrons had been rude and impatient, but this one, all sharply-dressed and professional, had offered you nothing but kindness. 

While you were settling from a rush, he asked what you recommended. The two of you fell into a nice chat as you cleaned equipment. 

The next time, you weren’t his cashier, but he grinned at you and left quickly. You realized that this man never told you his name. You wished he had.

Now, as you peeked out from the back, you could see the airy gaze he had over the rest of the patrons. A look of distaste, almost. Some people might have found it rude, but somehow, you understood. 

Earlier that morning, the idiot sitting about a foot away from the Man in the Suit had pushed his drink back at you, demanding it was supposed to be iced (he ordered it hot). If you weren’t the manager, you would have been looking at them that way, too.

Alice bit back a grin. “He asked for you, Y/N.”

“He did?”

“He did. Hey, he’s cute, by the w—”

You met her gaze, stopping the words from leaving her mouth. “Thanks, Alice.”

Before walking out, you glanced at one of the mirrors in the back. Not perfect, but it would have to do. After all, he saw you frazzled on one of the worst days of your career and still talked to you.

You cleared your throat, wandering out to the front while you hastily tied your apron around your waist. A light snicker erupted behind you as Alice followed. She winked at you before moving to the left to help the light line of patrons. Though, you swore she was still watching you.

The man in the suit turned as he heard your footsteps from behind the counter. His icy stare brightened into pure warmth as he saw you. 

“Hi, Y/N,” he said, his Northern dialect dripping off the syllables. He moved towards the counter. “I was in the mood for a good cuppa on my way to work, figured you made it the best last time I was here.”

You nodded, moving to grab a paper cup and the tea leaves. “And what’s that – your, uh, work?” You closed your eyes, feeling stupid, and tried to steady your breathing as he stared at you. Words! All you needed was to put together words. “What do you do for work?”

The man playfully narrowed his eyes. “I’m a politician,” he replied, a boring tone rounding out the words.

As you poured the hot water into the cup, you gave him a one-over. The well-tailored suit, the coat, and the gloves? Of course, he was. He seemed to notice the look on your face. He shrugged, breathing in as if saying, well, what could you do?

He chuckled. “It’s not fun as you might think.”

“It isn’t?”

“No. Sometimes, I really just want to escape.”

Your eyes flashed up to meet his, a hint of a grin curling up on your lips. “Where to?”

The man’s eyes widened as you waited for his answer. He seemed to think about it for a moment, and then finally sighed. “The stars."

The way he said it sounded almost romantic. His voice melted over the words. Now, your grin was threatening to take over your face. You were expecting to hear a boring, standard answer: Ibiza, Australia, California. This man wanted to be among the stars? Who was he?

He looked way too young to be a part of parliament. Like all politicians, he was clean-shaven, showing off his round, boyish face. But there was an element of trust in it. You noticed it the first time you met him.

You glanced up, trying to avoid looking at him, though you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling. He was terribly cute and almost blushing as he talked about how his love for the whole universe started as a child. 

Now that he was closer, you could see how handsome he truly was. His eyes were a warm shade of hazel, mostly brown like they had been dipped in caramel. There was a sparkle in them as he looked at you – a hint of play. You cleared your throat. “Two sugars?”

The man’s grin fell into a full-blown smile and your heart skipped a beat at the sight of it. “You know my order.”

“Of course.” You playfully raised an eyebrow at him and snapped the lid on top of the drink. “Here you go, Mr…”

“Mas—” he swallowed hard, shaking his head. “Saxon. Harold Saxon. But call me Harry, please.”

“Harry,” you corrected in a whisper, as you handed him the drink. For a moment, your fingers brushed and a light breath hitched in your throat.

Harry mumbled a thank you as he turned to walk out of the shop. You couldn’t keep your eyes off of him, and you were surprised to see him turn around. Had you messed up his drink? He bit his lip for a moment. 

“Y/N, I was thinking…” he trailed off, glancing up at you.

“What?”

“Would you like to escape with me? Just for a night?”

Your eyes brightened. “I’d love to.”


End file.
